


Tread Softly

by Mertens



Series: The Cloths of Heaven [1]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: AU where Erik never killed anyone and isn't as overly possessive, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Erik is a Sweetheart, F/M, Misunderstandings, Mutually unrequited love, cant get enough of that sweet sweet angst, thats a thing right, the author feels regret, title from that Yeats poem, what a wild AU that is lmao, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-21 20:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16583612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertens/pseuds/Mertens
Summary: Erik worries a lot over his protege, and not just about her voice. When he hears that a Vicomte has shown interest in her, he thinks that this could be just the thing to save her from the life of solitude that she seems so set on. Why on earth would Christine prefer to spend her time practicing with Erik when she could be dating the Vicomte? And when her relationship with Raoul appears to become serious, why does Erik feel so sad when he was the one who suggested it in the first place?





	1. Chapter 1

The last notes of the piano and Christine's voice echoed off of the walls and reverberated around them. There was a moment of silence in which Christine tried to catch her breath before Erik turned to her from the piano bench. 

"That was lovely as always, my dear," he told her. 

"Thank you, Maestro," she looked down at the floor, a blush creeping across her cheeks. 

She had always loved to hear him praise her, but she had noticed in the last year that something had changed for her, and lately it didn't take very much at all for her face to turn pink around him. 

"And I know that I am not the only one who was highly impressed by your performance the other night," Erik continued. "I heard that de Chagny boy at your dressing room door, the Vicomte, he asked you out to dinner."

A frown passed across her face, but not because Erik had heard their conversation, no - she knew Erik was often in the walls and listened to many conversations, that's just how he was, after all - no, her frown was because of the cheery hopeful tone in which brought it up, a tone much more suited to Meg or Little Jammes gossiping about boys. It didn't suit her Angel of Music, she thought, and she certainly didn't need yet another person trying to push her to go out with someone. 

Erik caught her frown before she schooled her face into impassivity. 

"Raoul is so silly," she shook her head and rolled her eyes, hoping that Erik wouldn't dwell on this subject - she didn't want to spend her time with him discussing the Vicomte, for Heaven's sake! 

Now it was Erik's turn to frown. He was well aware that a large portion of the men who showed up at dressing room doors often had less than wholesome intentions - hence why he tended to listen in on those visitors who showed up for her, just in case one did not take her refusals very well. 

"Has he been untoward with you, Christine?" he asked softly. 

"No! No, it's not that, it's just-"

How could she explain it to him when it was so muddled in her own mind?

"Raoul has nothing but kind to me. I am just not interested in having dinner with him, that's all. I do not wish to give him the wrong idea," she fidgeted with the fabric of her skirts. 

"It is just dinner, Christine, it is hardly a marriage proposal," Erik scoffed. "Besides, is he not an old friend of yours? Surely he just wants to catch up."

Erik worried about Christine. Of course he worried, it was only natural for a mentor to worry over their student - over whether she took too much sugar in her tea, over whether or not she'd disobey and attempt to sing when her throat was sore, over if her nerves would get the best of her in her auditions. But he found he worried over her in other ways too. 

Christine was an excellent student. Her dedication to her music was unparalleled, and her tenacity in practicing only grew as time went on. It seemed to him that there was nothing she'd rather do than sing, and while that did make him terribly proud of her, there were times that this worried him too.

Every so often he'd gently remind her that there was nothing wrong taking a day off from practice, that she should go and join her friends who were out shopping, that she needn't spend all her time cooped up with her stuffy old tutor. Christine would just shake her head and laugh and ask him to play the next aria. He loved her complete devotion to her art, but at this rate the poor girl was in danger of becoming a recluse such as himself. 

He could not let her succumb to such a fate - there was, after all, absolutely no reason that _she_ needed to hide away from the world. She was too charming, too talented, too beautiful to keep stored away in the Opera House forever. She deserved to go anywhere her heart desired - that so far she only wanted to spend all of her time in voice lessons was surely an oversight on her part. She was going to miss out on some of the sweetest parts of life if she kept insisting on practicing instead of going out! Why, by now all of her friends had had at least one serious relationship, several had even gotten married, and all the while Christine had never even gone out with the same boy more than once! It certainly wasn't due to lack of interest on their part - Christine would sometimes bring up which stagehand or dancer had asked her out and she would flip her hair coquettishly and proclaim that she had turned him down for this reason or that reason and it never failed to bring a smile to his lips to hear her list off the qualities of all the boys that she found boorish or offensive because her list was rather long. 

If Christine didn't want to end up as old spinster, she simply had to out more often than she did. After all, she certainly wasn't going to meet anyone standing around here in this old room while he played accompaniment for her singing. That thought was followed by a strange wave of an emotion that he couldn't quite name and didn't want to examine too closely. The point remained - he knew better than anyone that the solitary life was terribly lonely and dismal, and he didn't want for that for her because she deserved so much better. And if it took a push here or there to accomplish that, then that is what would occur. She _should_ go to dinner with the Vicomte. 

"We were friends when we fifteen, Erik - that feels like another lifetime ago. He has been in the military, and I have been here - what could there possibly be to catch up on beyond what we already went over last night?"

"Christine," he admonished. "Let the boy take you to dinner just this once. Would it not be nice to get dressed up and eat a fancy meal? I'm sure he'll take you to only the finest of restaurants, that's an opportunity you should not pass up - not everyone gets such opportunities, you know. Erik has not been to a fancy restaurant, probably not since Christine was a very little girl, for he has no one to go with. But Christine - Christine has someone who wishes to take her and she should go just to try it."

It was on the tip of Christine's tongue to say that perhaps Erik did have someone who wanted to go to a fancy restaurant with him, but he continued speaking. 

"Unless, of course," he added slowly, not wanting to pressure her. "Unless there was a reason that you did not want to attend dinner with him - you do not have to do anything you do not want to, my dear. You do not have to justify your choices to me, either. I only want what's best for you, and I am merely offering my opinion when I say I think it would be an enjoyable experience for you."

Christine sighed. Oh, she had a reason she didn't want to go out with Raoul, all right. However, it certainly wasn't one she could tell _him_ about. But it also wasn't the kind of reason Erik was likely hinting at - Raoul was nothing but a gentleman and she had no worries over how he might behave with her. It was just- 

She didn't see the point in going out with Raoul when she knew she wasn't interested in Raoul, not in that way, not in the way Raoul was hoping. She wasn't interested in any of the boys she'd gone out with before, nor any of the ones she had turned down recently. They were alright, she supposed, but they were nothing special, not to her. She had realized a while back that there was only one person she was truly interested in, but unfortunately that person did not seem to return her affections... Especially since he currently seemed intent on pushing her into the arms of another man. 

Christine bit her lip and looked away, willing the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes to stop. 

"Do you really think I should go with Raoul?" she asked softly. 

"I do," he swiftly replied. 

She nodded, sighed, and made her way to the door. Normally she liked to stay a while after her lesson and chat with him, but she was decidedly opposed to the direction this afternoon's conversation was going and she felt it would be better just to end it here. She cast one sidelong glance back at him before she walked through the door - and it was such a wretched and mournful look that he almost recanted his answer. But then she was gone, and it was done, and couldn't quite place his finger on what, exactly, was the cause of this particular strand of sadness that he suddenly found wrapped around himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Christine pouted to herself as she stalked out of the Opera House. He wanted her to go to dinner with Raoul? Very well then, so be it. She ordered a telegram sent to the address on the card Raoul had given her and informed him that she would accept his invitation to dinner the following night after all. By the time she had sent it and completed her other errands out and finally found herself in her room again, her haughty pouting had turned to mournful moping. 

She didn't want to go through with this sham of a dinner date, but she didn't know what else she could do. She had turned down suitor after suitor for over a year, but still no real sign of interest from Erik. It's because she was being terribly silly, she scolded herself. Why, she was behaving like a schoolgirl over this! She had let her silly crush on her tutor go on long enough. He didn't think of her in that way and that was that. It was surely better to come to terms with that now than to continue on for who knows how many years, turning down every offer simply because they were not her Angel of Music. She sniffed against the handful of tears that insisted on rolling down her cheeks as she brushed her hair and prepared for bed. 

She had spent a year - a whole year! - pining over that man once she had realized what her feelings were. It had been such a gradual realization, even that had taken her months to understand that her feelings towards him had shifted. It had snuck up her unannounced somewhere along the lines, for it certainly hadn't been there at the beginning. 

Christine had always pictured love to be like in the fairy stories her papa had told to her, you would _know_ , and you would _know_ that you knew - when you saw them, it would be love at first sight and there would no questions about that or second guessing if it was meant to be. 

But when she had first seen Erik, there was no heavenly chorus, no haze of infatuation nor Cupid's arrows piercing her heart. There was simply curiosity over the strange, reclusive young man that was rumored to live in the basements of the Opera House, who was a musical genius but surely couldn't be over the age of thirty - curiosity over the form that supplied the voice that had been teaching her voice lessons for several months at that point. 

When finally he consented to appear before her, she had found him rather shy and while this was endearing, she most certainly did not have _those_ kinds of feelings for him. They both got along quite well - certainly he would not agreed to spend so much time around her face-to-face (as it were) if they did not share a kind of rapport with each other. She would like to think that over the two years that followed they had become friends of sorts - he was professional as her tutor and very respectful as her friend. 

In truth, she did not fully know when exactly her feelings grew from kind friendship to secret love, but she thought it must have been sometime during that third year. Even then she had tried to rationalize it - she enjoyed his company, yes, he was an enjoyable person to be around once he was no longer shy! She found her thoughts would wander to him during the days she didn't have lessons - but of course one wonders what their friends are up to every now and then! But there was no accounting for those few times when out with another boy the unbidden thought would arrive that really, wouldn't this outing be so much more fun with Erik instead? And there was not any other explanation for those tingles she would feel when on rare occasions he found her lesson necessitated him to touch her - a hand on her shoulder to tell her not to tense, a brush of fingers across her ribs to remind her to keep her muscles there engaged - and there most certainly was no other possible explanation for the fact that she would, on occasion, purposely let her posture go in the hopes of such a correction. 

Yes, it had taken her a while to realize her feelings, but even more inscrutable were his own feelings. She had a number of reasons to think that he cared for her in a way that went beyond just their lessons, but she wavered between calling those things proof or just wishful thinking. He called her 'my dear', for one, but in truth she had never heard him to talk to anyone else to be able to judge what if anything she should read into that. Perhaps he was just a gentleman - for all she knew, he called Madame Giry that too - perhaps he even called Andre and Firmin that, too! She didn't know anyone else who spent very much time around him to ask, either. And that was the second reason - he willingly spent so much time around her. The man was a recluse, after all, and yet he had no issue spending up to several hours a day nearly every day in the same room with her. He truly seemed to care for her, listening to her tell stories about her life or idle gossip after her lessons were over, following up on things she had mentioned worrying over days ago and so on, but perhaps that was merely entertainment for a lonely man - no different than how she'd read the newspaper and then toss it away. 

How many months had she longed to know the answer to how he felt about her? And now suddenly she had the most damning piece of evidence in the case against what she had hoped. He wouldn't have been pushing her towards Raoul if he loved her. That was that. It was over now, wasn't it? It was all over. She'd go to dinner with Raoul tomorrow night and start a new chapter in her life then. 

She got in her bed and pulled her blanket up to her chin, tossing and turning miserably. She let her mind wander back to those early days, back when she first met him.


	3. Chapter 3

She had been sitting alone in one of the storage rooms that she and Meg often ducked into to gossip between rehearsals. Meg had just left, and Christine was still mulling over the conversation they had just had. Meg had been trying to coax her into auditioning for a solo role in an upcoming show, while Christine had been quite insistent that she could do no such thing. She had wanted to, yes, but as she told Meg, she was certain her nerves would get the best of her, and she knew that many of the higher notes were often hit or miss for her. 

It was then that she had heard the man's voice for the first time, soft yet powerful. 

"I think you should try out for the solo," the voice told her. 

She jumped in surprise. Was someone in here with her? Oh, she and Meg would have to take better care to make certain the room was empty next time they wanted to gossip... But try as she might, she couldn't see anyone around her. 

"And just who is 'I', monsieur?" she called out to the voice. 

Silence was the only reply, but she waited for several moments hoping he would respond. 

"Are you still there?" she tried. 

"Yes," he said. 

She was almost certain now that the voice was coming from inside the wall next to her. A smile quirked at her lips. Was this The Phantom talking to her? 

She had heard the stories of him, of course. Nearly everyone at the Opera House had. The stories about him were widely varied but the common strand between most of them - the believable ones, anyway - was that he was an eccentric genius who hid in the walls and tunnels and often gave his opinions to the managers. The managers, in turn, left him to wander where he would due to the excellent nature of his advice which had brought in quite a bit of money to the Opera House. The opinion of many of the ballet girls, however, was that he was in fact a supernatural figure - a specter, a phantom, who haunted the old building and played pranks on the performers. Some of them regarded him with apprehension, thinking he brought bad luck, but Christine wasn't afraid of him. 

He must live like a ghost, even if he is but a man, Christine had thought to herself. How weary that must be after a while. He's surely heard the stories about himself, even those most awful ones. Perhaps, she thought wryly, he would like a change of pace. 

"Are you an angel?" she asked with all the innocence her nineteen year old self could muster. 

She heard a sharp intake of breath before his swift reply. 

"Y-yes."

He had attempted to project a confidence that he obviously did not feel, a small stutter to the word otherwise boldly spoken. Christine had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. 

"Well, Angel, what makes you think I should audition?"

"I've heard you practicing, and in the chorus. You're quite good. They would be fools not to promote you."

"Thank you, Angel, that's very flattering, but my range is not consistent. I simply cannot run the risk of an audition going terribly - then they'd never promote me," she sighed. 

The voice was silent for several minutes and Christine had begun to think that perhaps he had left. 

"Sing for me," he finally said. 

She had scrambled down off the wooden crate she was sitting on, smoothing down her skirts. She was suddenly as nervous as if this were the actual audition, and when she reached the higher notes, sure enough she faltered. 

"You need to remember to breathe from your diaphragm, Christine. Try it again."

She had paused at his knowing her name, but she had taken his advice all the same - and that time she was able to reach the note. 

"Oh, Angel-!"

Christine had marveled at how easily his advice had helped her. 

"I do hope you'll consider trying the audition."

"I- I might. I suppose it depends on how well my practices go between now and then."

Another pause. 

"I could practice with you, if you wish it," he had said slowly. 

Christine had fidgeted at this thought. 

"I have no way to pay you for that, Angel, and I would prefer not to be in anyone's debt."

"Just hearing your voice is payment enough - and if you can manage to unthrone La Carlotta I will consider us more than even. You simply can't imagine how weary I am of her shrieking onstage."

So Christine had started to meet with him in her spare time, and her singing improved by leaps and bounds. She had auditioned and received a small solo role and she had been thrilled. 

It had been rather odd to talk to him behind the walls, which had lead to her asking if perhaps he could stand in the same room as her. He had gone very quiet when she had asked, and she was almost certain that she had angered him and he had left, but he had said he would think on it. It was a few weeks later that he had announced to her that in her next lesson he would accompany her on the piano in one of the abandoned rehearsal rooms. 

She had been nervous but excited for that lesson, to finally see what he looked like. There were so many stories about him from people who had claimed to have seen him. Some said he was frighteningly tall and lanky, nearly like a skeleton. He was shrouded in a mist, said others, and all you could see were his bright yellow eyes glowing out through that mist. Still others said his face was no face at all but rather a death's head. She had wrung her hands a little as she waited, picturing all these possibilities. She had only hoped that if he _did_ turn out to be rather monstrous that she didn't embarrass him over it by screaming or - heaven forbid - fainting. After all, even if he did look like all that he was still the Voice that was so kind to her these past five months. He couldn't help how he looked, certainly hadn't chosen to be that way. She had almost wished, though, that she had asked Madame Giry if there were any truth to rumors about how he looked - just to be able to prepare herself. But Madame had not made any mention of it when Christine had told her about their upcoming in-person lesson, and she had known that Madame had talked to him in person numerous times before. 

"Christine?" he had called to her. 

She knew that his calling her was for her own benefit, so as not to startle her by showing up suddenly. She nodded eagerly. 

"Come in, Angel." 

She heard a few noises of metal on metal and then the glass of the full length mirror had slid back to reveal a figure standing behind it. 

All of those worries of screaming came to nothing and she had nearly laughed at how silly all of the descriptions had been. He was simply a man, a rather thin and bony man, but a human man all the same with dark hair and pale skin. The only thing that garnered a second thought was the white mask covering the right side of his face, and how bright his warm amber eyes were. He stepped smoothly into the room as she smiled at him. 

"Hello, Angel."

A small wave of anxiety passed over what was visible of his face and he hesitated before sitting down at the piano bench and promptly began their lesson. 

The lesson went well and she was quite impressed by how well he could play. She had found herself rather curious as to whether he had dressed up for their lesson together or if perhaps this was how he always looked - did he honestly go about the false walls and tunnels dressed in such finery, cape and all? She never found the answer to this question, but he always dressed very well anytime she saw him. 

"Thank you for this, Angel," she had told him at the end of the lesson. "It's good to finally see you."

He had turned slowly to face her, a slight frown on his face. 

"Christine," he said softly. "You do know that I am not an angel, yes?"

There were more than few people at the Opera House who firmly believed he was supernatural in origin, and even several who had seen glimpses of him in person yet still insisted that he was in fact a ghost. He didn't mind people thinking such things about him, but to be called an angel when he was clearly not felt terribly wrong and he did not wish to trick her. 

She pressed her lips into a flat line, trying not to laugh, and nodded. 

"I had rather guessed," she said solemnly. 

He looked somewhat embarrassed. 

"You may call me Erik, instead."

She had eventually began to ask him questions here and there, and those questions had led to conversations that grew longer the more they got to know each other. He had been quite reserved at first, but Christine had been patient and persistent and over time he began to open up to her and they found they shared a number opinions and likes and dislikes, and eventually she found he had a dry and witty sense of humor that could always maker her laugh. She had considered him a friend as much as Meg or Jammes, but then it had turned into- into whatever it was that she felt for him now. She certainly hadn't intended for that to happen, but it had all the same. 

She drifted off to sleep with these thoughts in her head. Tomorrow she would awake and then a little later she would see Raoul, and things would never truly be the same again.


	4. Chapter 4

"Lottie!" cried Raoul when he saw her on the steps outside of the Opera House. "I was so glad you changed your mind about dinner tonight."

He held the door of the carriage open for her and ushered her in. They exchanged polite pleasantries on the way to the restaurant, an Christine nearly despaired that the entire evening would be spent in such dull conversation over weather and the like. 

Just as Erik had guessed, Raoul was taking her to one of the finest restaurants. She couldn't help but smile as they were led to a large booth on the side of the dining room that was equipped with curtains. He had apparently remembered, after all, that she didn't like to be out in the open where everyone could see her. That was terribly thoughtful of him, considering they hadn't even spoken in nearly seven years, she thought to herself. He ordered for them both before pulling the curtains shut and turning to her. 

"Now, tell me everything!" 

So she told as much of her time at the Opera as she thought he would find interesting, and he told her stories about being in the navy, and by the time they were eating dessert it was as though they never had parted. 

As she laughed along to his tales of pranks on superior officers, she realized Erik had been right - the evening so far had been quite enjoyable. But still-

"Oh Raoul, I've had such a lovely time with you tonight. But I'm afraid I must be terribly honest with you, and I hope you shan't be angry with me."

Concern streaked across his youthful face. 

"I could never be angry with you, Little Lottie."

She certainly hoped that was the case, as well. 

"I just don't want any misunderstandings between us, Raoul. I like your company very much, and I am so happy to spend time with you again, but- but I am not looking for a serious beau at the moment. In fact, I am not looking for a beau _at all_. I do hope you can understand," she twisted her napkin between her hands nervously, hoping she hadn't spoiled the evening entirely. 

Raoul was silent for a minute as he studied the empty ice cream dish in front of him before sighing. 

"I must confess," he began. "I had rather hoped, when I first saw you the other night, that perhaps there would be... something there. But, after tonight I seem to find that my feelings for you are more of the... brotherly sort."

He raised his eyebrows before continuing with a sheepish grin. 

"I do hope that _you_ will not be too angry." 

Christine laughed at this. 

"You don't know what a relief it is to hear you say that!" she told him, shaking her head. 

"So," he leaned back and cocked his head to the side. "Might I be so bold as to enquire why La Daae prefers to shun the company of men? You're not about to run off and join a convent, are you?"

"N-no! It's not like that!" she blushed at his teasing, unsure of what to tell him. 

"Ah! But of course! There's someone else, isn't there?"

Christine opened her mouth to protest it, but couldn't find the words, only becoming more flustered. 

"Oh goodness, Christine, I was merely joking, but there really is someone, isn't there?"

He leaned forward, interested. 

"Who is this mystery man? Did I see him on stage? Ir is he not from the Opera?"

"Well... No, you didn't see him. He's my voice teacher, you see. Oh, it's very complicated!"

Raoul looked concerned at this. 

"Your teacher? Is he good to you, Lottie? He's- he's not promising you better roles onstage if you court him, is he? I shall fight him for you if that's the case!" he cried passionately. 

She sighed deeply. 

"That's just it, Raoul - we aren't even courting," she told him in a small voice. "He's just my voice teacher and I- I feel... _things_ towards him. He doesn't even know, or if he does he certainly doesn't care." 

"That sounds awful, Lottie. I'm sorry."

She nodded. 

"Believe me, I've tried to talk myself out of it. I know it's such folly but still! I just can't help it. He's just so darling."

"Tell me about him?"

Her face colored and she tried for a long moment about how to best describe him. 

"I mean, what would you like to know about him?"

"Everything! What's he look like, where does he work? Is he a full time voice teacher?"

"Well... Erik is a bit of an eccentric, you see."

"Oh?"

"Yes, he wears a mask over half of his face - Madame Giry says it's because he's disfigured, but I've never seen him without it to know. He's a little taller than you, with dark hair and... _bright_ eyes, and he's always dressed so finely. He, uh, I suppose you could say he works at the Opera House, in a way. He sort of- he just lives there, you know?"

Raoul nodded. 

"You live there too, Christine - many of the performers do," he supplied. 

She twisted the napkin harder. 

"No, I mean- he lives _in_ the Opera House- inside the walls I mean."

Raoul frowned. 

"He what?"

"Well, no, I must be mistaken - I meant to say he lives in the cellars, he just so happens to spend most of his time in the walls."

Raoul carefully considered if perhaps Christine was not in her right mind, but she had seemed fine during the earlier part of their dinner. 

"Christine," he said in a measured voice. "Take a deep breath and begin again."

She did as he suggested. 

"Erik lives at Opera House and makes a salary by giving advice and critique to the managers - he's practically a manager himself! But he's terribly shy and tends to hide, on account of his disfigurement, you know, because people can be so cruel to those such as him. He's a musical genius, he really is, but he can't much more than ten years older than us. And yes, he's always been so good to me, you wouldn't believe how good. I never would have landed a solo role had he not encouraged me to try out for it, and he always makes me feel like I can achieve anything in the world if I only tried." 

She ducked her head and blushed. 

"The way I feel about him- I've never felt that way about anyone, Raoul."

Raoul's initial worries began to fade away. 

"You should tell him, then, Lottie. How do you know he doesn't feel the very same about you?" 

"Because he was rather insistent that I go out with you," her face fell a little. "I don't think he would want me to go out with anyone else if he had feelings for me."

"Well he's a buffoon if he can't see how wonderful you are," Raoul stated. 

"Raoul!" 

His words brought a smile to her sad face. 

"He would be so angry to hear you say that," she giggled. "One time the managers refused to put on Hannibal like he wanted instead of Faust, and in the middle of the night he caused to the chandelier in the lobby to come crashing down. The noise terrified everyone, and there was so much glass to clean up afterwards. He can have a bit of a temper at times if you push him too far."

"A _bit_?!"

"Well, that's probably the baddest thing he's done, you know. And Hannibal _did_ bring in quite a crowd, more than Faust would have. But oh, if you think that's wild, you should hear the stories some of the dancers tell about him!"

"Such as?"

"They call him - get this - they call him 'The Phantom of the Opera'! Half of them are convinced that he really is a ghost, that he can make blood ooze out of the floorboards and all other nonsense. Every little thing that goes wrong around there gets blamed on 'The Phantom', it's really so silly - although, there are times I do wonder if he's playing tricks on us, but I know he'd never do anything too cruel. He'll always be an Angel to me."

Her face had a far away dreamy look as she thought back to that first meeting with her Angel. Raoul couldn't help but smile at how happy she looked. If only, he thought, her Angel felt the same way about her. It was terribly sad to him that Christine's teacher didn't share her feelings. 

He dropped her off in front of the Opera House with a hug and laughter, having already promised each other that they would spend as much time as they could together before he had leave on his next expedition. Neither one saw the figure standing at the balcony just above them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally posted chapter 4 twice because I'm dumb 

Erik stood in the darkness and watched as Raoul pulled her into an embrace, Christine bubbling with laughter. It was all a little too familiar for Erik's taste, but he supposed they _had_ known each other since they were young children even if they hadn't spoken in years... And Christine didn't seem to have a problem with it. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

So the date went well, then. He should feel pleased, he realized - he had been the one to give get the extra push into going tonight and she had clearly enjoyed herself. Yet instead he just felt... Empty. 

No, not empty after all. He felt an odd pang of what he could only name as jealousy- what a strange thing to be feeling over her, he mused to himself. Jealousy and guilt. Guilt for watching her, for standing here and waiting so that he could watch her. He shouldn't watch her when she doesn't now he's there, he knew that, but he had done it anyway and now he was feeling badly over it. He usually had no qualms about spying on people, but it was different with Christine, he thought. 

Why was he jealous? He scolded himself for the emotion. It's not as if _he_ could ever be in that boy's place. Besides, that was an entirely inappropriate thought to even have about one's student. He shook himself. This was best for her, he told himself firmly and went back inside. 

Yet still, as he prepared for bed in his home on the underground lake, the feeling still prickled at his skin like an insect crawling across him. The Vicomte's gain was not his loss, he tried convince himself as he pulled his blankets up to his chin. You couldn't lose what you didn't own, and he most certainly did not own Christine Daae. 

It was after the end of their lesson the next day that he dared to broach the subject. 

"How did your evening go last night, my dear?"

He half hoped that he was about to hear a list of Raoul's sins - perhaps he chewed too loudly, or used the wrong fork for the wrong meal, or had interrupted her when she was speaking, or had sneezed in a manner she hadn't appreciated. 

But instead she smiled a sunny smile, a look that said she had a secret, and told Erik that the evening had gone wonderfully. 

"Far better than I had expected, actually. I'm glad I went after all."

Erik's hands suddenly felt clammy. 

"That's quite excellent. I am- I am very happy for you. Will you be seeing him again, then?" 

Christine had never gone on a second date with anyone before. 

"Yes, I'll be seeing him again tomorrow."

Erik couldn't account for how dry his mouth suddenly felt. 

"Oh?" was all he could muster. 

They chatted for a few moments longer on some topic Erik was only half paying attention to before he excused himself and left. Christine had _never_ gone out with the same boy twice, yet here she was meeting Raoul twice in three days. That was- that was good! Yes, it was good, it was- 

It was horrible. 

Why had he told her to go out with him? Why was he so incredibly stupid? He could have said nothing, could have let her shun the boy as she had all the others, and their lives would have gone on the same as always and he wouldn't be feeling and thinking these awful things. But- 

Christine deserved someone she could go to dinner with. That was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? It didn't matter what Erik wanted, it only mattered what Christine deserved. 

He had suspected for a little while now that what he felt for her exceeded what was _proper_ for him to feel towards her. It was surely only more proof that Erik was, in fact, a monster as so many people had said. It just wasn't _right_ for his mind to wander so during their lessons, for him to find her making appearances in his daydreams and for her to slip into his thoughts before going to sleep. He shouldn't be thinking of how her small hand would fit in his, or how soft her hair must be, and he most certainly shouldn't be thinking of what her lips would feel like against his. It was all so terribly wrong, and yet he couldn't help himself. Well, he couldn't help his thoughts, at least. His actions, however, were entirely under his control, and he had vowed that all of those thoughts would never be anything more than what they were- just thoughts. 

For several months now he had tried to ignore those feelings, pretend they simply didn't exist. But now with Christine finally finding someone she liked, reality came crashing down on him. He loved her, and she was going to marry someone else. She had to. With that abstract future now fully realized and manifested, looming on the horizon in full view, he could no longer lie to himself or deny the cause of the despair he was feeling. 

He had never intended for this to happen, for him to have these feelings about her. There was nothing that could have prepared him to know what was just down the road in a mere handful of years when he had suggested to a chorus girl that she should try out for a bigger role. He had only wanted to hear her sing, for heaven's sake! He hadn't meant to go and fall in love with her! 

And it would be so wicked of him to ever even mention it to her, to curse her with that knowledge. What would be the point? She deserved someone who could take her to all of the fancy places and events that she belonged in, not someone who had to hide in shadows. She needed a man, not a ghost. No, it would be wicked and selfish to even think otherwise. Only a monster would want to condemn her to share his fate, and Erik refused to play the part of the monster in all this. 

So it only made sense for her to find someone she could be serious about - finally something concrete that would shake him of the silly notion that there could ever be something more between her and him. 

But no amount of rationalization or logical outcomes or knowing that it was best for Christine did anything to dull the ache in his chest each morning, did nothing to ease the sting of the thoughts that kept him up at night. So he would brew some tea and compose some music and tell himself that it wouldn't always feel like this, that one day the pain would lessen, and on occasion, for a few moments, he would actually believe that that could be true. 

The thought had briefly crossed his mind that perhaps, in light of such revelations, he should discontinue their lessons, but that was something he simply could not bring himself to do. His lessons with her were the one bright spot in his otherwise dark existence, the only real thing he had to look forward to. Besides, there might come a day when she tired of the lessons and ended them herself, or perhaps her husband would no longer approve of her career. He would respect her wishes in that matter, should she want to leave him, but he would not be the one to end it. 

In his foolhardy attempt at ensuring her happiness, he had, without thinking, endangered his own in more ways than one. He had been quite aware that he would not have anything more than what he already had - but he had overlooked the part where he stood to lose what he already had. An hour or so a day, sometimes more, spent in a lesson. How would she have time for that once she was married? Once she had children? He pushed that thought away almost immediately - Christine with children. It made him break out in a cold sweat, a child was the ultimate proof that her heart would never - _should_ never - belong to him. He could never give her children, how could he when there was a a chance that he would pass on his deformity? That would be a betrayal of the highest sort, to make her carry his child who would be doomed to live a life of hiding and secrecy and whispers from strangers. He couldn't do that to her. 

But the point remained that she and Raoul weren't even officially courting yet and already she had to cut her lessons short to be with him. How much worse would it get in the future? He might never see her again if she got married. 

His only hope in that regard was that he knew Christine to be far too independent to merely acquise to her husband's demands if they were not in line with her own - so long as she loved singing, she would continue to sing regardless of it pleased her husband or not. What remained to be seen, however, was if she ended up loving her husband more than she loved her singing. If that ended up being the case, there was a chance she'd give it all up. 

Love makes people so stupid things, after all. 

No one knew that better than Erik.


	6. Chapter 6

Christine was avoiding his eye all throughout her lesson that day, he could tell. She had been out with her boy again last night, the thought of that caused Erik's heart to twist painfully but he knew he had no real reason for that. She was not his. She never would be, now. 

His fingers stilled over the keys, her lesson finally over. He knew she would never be his, but he did miss the easy carefree connection the two of them had - used to have. It had been lost somewhere along the line in the past weeks, sometime around when that boy had entered the picture. 

It was only to be expected, he reasoned. Was this not what he had wanted for her? All of her smiles, her little gossip, her bright eyes and tinkling laughter and playful banter were all for Raoul now, and oh, how that pained him in ways he couldn't have imagined previously. 

But still, he felt a hollow desperation in his chest at this, and he must try. 

"You and Raoul have been going out quite often lately," the words fell dully into space, the cheerfulness he had tried to inject into them failing. 

She was looking right at him, finally, the first time today she had looked in his direction, so that was something at least. He pressed on, but couldn't find it within him to return her gaze. 

"When the time comes, you must remember me, my dear. I would love an invitation to your wedding," he managed, just barely, to bite back the hopelessness he felt at hearing these words take form from his own mouth. 

A soft sob escaped her lips, and he jerked around to face her at last. 

A horrible thought had occurred to Christine a few weeks ago, and it had caused her such a pain that she had steadfastly refused to believe it could ever be true. But here were those very words hanging in the air between them, and all the sadness they signified and weight they carried came crashing down on her at once. 

He was trying to rid himself of her. He no longer wanted to teach her but was afraid of hurting her, so he was trying to marry her off in the hopes that she would leave her music behind once she became a wife. How many other girls had she watched follow that same pattern? Promising talent that suddenly took the backseat to a romance that pulled them off the stage. There was no quicker way to end a girl's career on the stage than for a boy to propose to her. 

It was too much for her. She pressed her hands into her eyes until she saw stars but still the tears continued to flow. Not only did he not love her, he didn't even want to teach her anymore. 

"Christine! What's wrong?" concern colored his voice, and hearing that only made her cry harder at how sincere it sounded. 

She swayed on her feet and Erik jumped up from the bench, afraid she might fall over. He reached out for her but stopped just short of touching her. 

She closed the small gap between them, leaning against him. A moment later and he let his arms go around her gently. 

"Dearest, please, tell me what's wrong," he pleaded with her. "You know I hate to see you cry."

"Could you not have just told me outright?" she manges to grit out between her sniffles and cries. 

She knew that she shouldn't lean against him in such a manner, knew now that the hand rubbing circles on her back meant nothing, that his current concern stemmed more from his personal dislike of displays of sadness than out of true care for her. But she also knew that this chance to touch him would likely not come again, so even in the midst of her heartbreak and anger towards him for all his scheming plots and pretty lies, she pressed her face to his chest where she could feel the high flutter of his heart, let one arm slip around his waist as she pulled closer to him and gripped her other hand on his shoulder. She was mad at him, oh yes, but she couldn't help the little leap her heart made at feeling him like this. She still loved him, even if he felt nothing for her. 

"Tell you what, Christine?" he was nearly begging her now. "What should I have told you?"

His heart was racing with her pressed so closely to him, and he could feel each and every dolorous shudder and hitch of breath as she continued to cry fiercely. He desperately wished he knew what to do, how to comfort her better, because something was terribly wrong and she surely wouldn't be able to tell him if she kept on in this way. 

It wasn't until she felt his hand reach up and begin to pet her hair that her anger at him flared up once again, drowning out her sorrow. How dare he? How dare he try to pawn her off on Raoul and then stand here trying to pretend that he didn't know he was the cause of her tears? She let go of his shoulder and fisted her her hand in the fabric of his sleeve. 

"You- you want me to go get married so you won't have to teach me anymore," her voice broke at the end, utterly betraying her. 

Erik stilled and felt the very blood in his veins freeze. 

"You know that if I get married I won't have time to sing, yet still you push me towards him. If you wanted to be rid of me so badly you should just come out and say it." 

There was an odd hum in his ears as though he heard her words through through a thick layer of cotton. Did she really think that of him? What had made her think he wanted that? Time came back into focus once again and he hugged her just a little tighter. 

"Oh Christine," he breathed. "Christine, no, it's not like that at all. I would never want to be rid of you, darling, I- I love-"

He nearly let those fateful words slip, nearly confessed his love of her, but he swallowed them back at the last second. He could not burden her with that. 

"I love our lessons together, I love teaching you. I hope nothing ever changes that or comes between us, not even your boy. I just want you to be happy, Christine. That's all I've ever wanted."

She dearly wanted those words to be true, even if she did notice the glaring omission of _her_ from the things he said he loved. But still, something was better than nothing, she supposed. 

"You want me to be happy?" she whispered. 

"Of course I do."

"Then why won't you believe me when I say that I'd rather- rather-"

_rather be here with you_

"Rather be singing than going out on a date with some boy? I was perfectly happy with the way things were."

"I am sorry, Christine."

It takes every last ounce of his willpower to keep from burying his face in her hair as he so longs to do. But that would be unseemly, and he was already pushing his fragile luck with his hands rubbing her back and caressing her long tresses. 

"I wasn't paying attention, and I am sorry. I promise to listen to you better in the future."

In the future. 

_In the future._

So he was to continue with their lessons, it seemed. She suddenly became aware that their current position was quite unbefitting for a teacher and his student to be in. She hadn't cared a fig about that earlier when she thought she wasn't to see him again, but now it was different knowing that they would be continuing on with her lessons and she would be seeing him nearly every day. She pulled back from him quickly and he let her, only the briefest flicker of fear that he had done something wrong passing over his face, but she was far too self conscious to notice that. 

"Please try to see that you do," she told him, smoothing down her skirts and staring at the floor. 

Her face positively burned when she thought about how brazenly she had embraced him, but Erik was ever the gentleman and made no mention about it. 

"Erik never meant to push you into something you didn't want, my dear. He can only hope that his meddling did not unduly complicate things for you with the boy."

She shook her head. 

"No, things are going well with Raoul, actually."

Going well. Oh. Perhaps he would be receiving a wedding invitation after all. 

"I see," he looked away again. "All the same I do apologize. Your lessons are my highest priority. I trust I will see you at our usual time tomorrow?"

Christine bit her lip. 

"I'm seeing Raoul then. He's busy the rest of the day, that's the only time we could meet."

"Oh. Of course. No matter, it is fine. I will see you- later, I suppose. You know where to find me," he gestured vaguely at the walls. 

She nodded. There was nothing left to say, so he slipped behind the mirror once more, leaving her in the stillness.


	7. Chapter 7

Erik couldn't stop the buzzing in his mind no matter how hard he tried. He knew she was out with that boy, and he just couldn't focus on any task he attempted. He finally decided on a small walk above the lobby - the sights and sounds and crowds of people who would be milling about there always managed to hold his attention. 

The thin railings and catwalks three stories up were intended for ease of changing the lights and were practically abandoned at all other times, so Erik had ne we had a problem using them to look down and watch the people below. As he expected, the drone of conversations below gave him something other than his own thoughts to think about. The tension in his shoulders started to fall away. Until he saw them. 

Why were Christine and Raoul _here_ , of places? His heart sank but he couldn't look away. 

She looked so happy. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? As much as he wished that it were him making her laugh and beam like that, he had to admit that it was good to see. And in a way, it was thanks to him, because she wouldn't have given Raoul a chance without that push from Erik. His hands tightened on the railing. 

Down below, Christine leaned over to whisper gossip in Raoul's ear, discreetly pointing out the Opera House employees in question. 

"What about your Angel, Lottie? Do you think I'd be able to meet him?"

"Goodness no, I didn't even get to properly meet until months after he was teaching me. I doubt he'd agree to meet you even if I did ask him."

"That's too bad. Say, do you think he's in the walls right about now?" Raoul glanced nervously about him. 

Christine laughed. 

"It's possible! He doesn't come out here too often, though. He's probably watching the rehearsals right now."

But all the same Christine looked up, curious eyes scanning the catwalks that she knew he would be on if he were here. 

Erik felt his heart leap into his throat - he didn't want her to see him! He especially didn't want that boy to see him! He ducked down as quickly as he could before making a dash for the small doorway. He managed to escape before she turned to look at the portion of catwalk he had been on, but in his haste he accidentally bumped his head against the doorway. In doing so, his mask came off and clattered to the floor. 

He uttered a curse under his breath and reached down for it, and sure enough it was three pieces now. 

Broken. Just like his hopes, his dreams. Like his heart. 

He sighed deeply. At least he had already given Christine the next few days off so she could focus on rehearsals. It would take time to make a new mask. He gathered up the pieces and made his way down to his home, but his thoughts stayed up above with the happy couple. He could just picture all the happy topics they must be talking about at that very moment, planning their future together, perhaps. 

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Raoul," she said, suddenly somber. 

He looked at her, concerned. 

"What do you mean?"

"About Erik," her eyes were still scanning the catwalks and she frowned, thinking that she had almost caught sight of movement. "I'm afraid I threw quite a fit with him yesterday. You should have seen him."

A faint smile ghosted across her lips. 

"It was almost like he cared," she added softly. 

"Surely he cares for you, at least somewhat," Raoul supplied. 

"Not in the way I'd like him to care, though," she shook her head. "And that's the awful part of it - I know there'll never be anyone else for me. It's just him. But he doesn't care, doesn't see me that way. I don't think he ever will."

She turned towards her old friend with a quiet desperation. 

"Is that what my life is going to be like, Raoul? Am I going to continue to take lessons with him for the rest of my career, for the next thirty years, and pine over someone who doesn't return my affections? But I couldn't bear the alternative, to court - or marry! - someone I don't love, to pretend with a sham of a relationship while practicing each day with the one I truly love... I'd truly rather be alone than do that. I'll keep singing, and keep wishing, even though I know nothing will come if it. I have no other option, not really."

"You never know, Lottie..." he reached out and squeezed her hand. "You might win him over yet."

"Oh, Raoul. You're too sweet and hopeful. No, I've resigned myself to my fate. I'd rather be just his student than be anyone else's wife. That's the way it goes, I suppose."

She sighed deeply, then gave a small laugh. 

"But look at me, being so terribly forlorn and dramatic over this whole thing. It's not as bad as all that, when you get down to it. I'll spend each day with him, for any number of years, really. I can be content with that, I'm sure."

But her sad smile did not convince Raoul. Christine loved her Angel, and it peeved Raoul to no end that she was suffering like this simply because this man, this _Erik_ , was too daft to see what a good woman she was. She was unhappy over the situation, and Raoul simply wouldn't stand for that - Christine was too good, too pure, to have to feel such sorrow in her heart. 

"And I really must be going!" she happened a glance at the big clock on the wall. "They'll be expecting me in rehearsals soon! I'll see you soon, Raoul!"

She waved a hand in goodbye as she rushed off, nearly late. 

Raoul sat on the bench a while longer, a plot forming in his mind.


	8. Chapter 8

Christine thought over Raoul's words during lulls in rehearsal. Her dear old friend - he had always been so sweet and innocent. Of course he'd believe in fairytale endings and the triumph of true love. 

Christine knew better. The world didn't work that way. 

At that very moment, Raoul was striding purposefully around the outside of the Opera House. He knew there was an entrance to the cellars on the Rue Scribe side, and that's where he was headed. 

He managed to get in through the first gate, and, with the help of a rather large spool of thread so he wouldn't get lost, he began to walk down the winding tunnels. 

Erik first heard the rattling noise very faintly, nothing more than a mere afterthought in his haze of self pity and grief. It seemed his path back to his home was also drawing him closer to the source of noise, and as he drew closer to that noise, he began to realize that in addition to the rattling there was also a voice calling out. 

"Monsieur Phantom! I know you're down there!"

Raoul didn't actually know for certain if he was down there. The Opera House was quite large, and the man might be anywhere in it. This was, in fact, the fifth air vent grate that Raoul had spent several minutes rattling and yelling down. Surely, thought Raoul, he would hear at some point and come forward - it was only a matter of time, and even if he had to rattle every single vent in every single room on every single floor, Raoul would do it if it meant helping his Little Lottie. 

Erik's shoulders stiffened at the words, his woeful reverie broken and anger beginning to bubble up. 

That insolent boy! What was he doing down here? Was it enough to have won Christine's love, did he now have to seek him out and rub it in his face, too? 

"What, exactly, do _you_ want, Monsieur Le Vicomte?" Erik hissed when he finally approached the small grate that boy had his grubby hands on. 

Raoul shuddered at the iciness of that voice. For the briefest of flashes he regretted his choices in coming down to the cellars, in seeking this man out. But the moment passed. 

"Are you the Phantom? Are you Erik?" he asked eagerly. 

A flash of dread passed through Erik, and he instinctively took a step backwards even though he know Raoul couldn't see him at all from this angle anyway. 

"Who told you that name?" 

"Christine did," he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Fear turned to exquisite pain in his chest. Christine had been talking about him, then. He hadn't specifically asked her not to talk about him, but she knew he was a private person, that he didn't like very many people knowing very many things about him. 

She had told people his _name_. A name was such a personal thing - if someone knows your name, they have power if you. He had trusted her with his name - not Angel, not Phantom, not the Opera Ghost, but Erik - and she had gone and told this boy about it. Who knows how many others she'd told as well? How many the boy would tell? And now he knew where to find him, where he lived! Christine must have told him that, too. He leaned against the wall and sank to his knees, the full weight of the implications hitting him. Did she care so little for him, that she'd go and tell his secrets to all and sundry? 

_Oh, Christine! Why?_

"What are your intentions towards Christine?" Raoul demanded. 

" _Intentions_?" Erik sputtered. "Why, I'm her vocal instructor, nothing more! My only intention is to help her refine her voice!"

"Nothing more?" Raoul repeated. 

"What do you want?" Erik snapped at him. "Why are you seeking me out like this? Are you here to dismiss me as Christine's voice teacher? Do you not want your future wife up on stage anymore, is that it? Or perhaps you're unhappy with her spending so much time with another man? You have nothing to fear on that account, I assure you."

"Wife?!" Raoul cried. "No! I'm not going to marry Christine!"

Erik frowned. Was the boy merely toying with her affections, then? How dare he string her along like this! Why, he had half a mind to reach up through the grate and strangle him for that! 

"And why ever not, Monsieur Le Vicomte?" his voice was deadly cold. 

"Because she doesn't love me, that's why!"

Erik paused. How could Christine not love Raoul? He was young, handsome, rich... They both got along splendidly, at least it seemed that way. He felt at a loss for words. 

"She doesn't love you?" he parroted back dumbly. "Wh-why not?"

Raoul rolled his eyes. 

"Because she loves _you_ , you great dolt!" he cried, exasperated. "How can you not see that?" 

"Don't call me that!" Erik shot back, but his mind was already elsewhere. 

Christine loved _him_? Could it truly be? If he were not already on his knees, this news certainly would have brought him to them. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting those words echo through his mind, through his heart, for one glorious moment before he'd have to face the cold, unfeeling reality of the situation. 

Christine loved him. 

_Christine loved him._

He opened his eyes. 

He was vaguely aware that the boy had been blathering on that whole time, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what had come after those words he had so longed to hear and before he had become lost in them. 

"-and _that's_ why I'm here, because she says she doesn't want to ever marry anyone else but you! So I must know, do you really only care about her voice?"

Erik flushed with embarrassment. 

"What I feel towards her is none of your business, I should think!"

He longed to simply walk away from this bothersome little Vicomte and pretend this whole conversation had never happened - boy the boy had already pursued him thus far, and if he left he feared Raoul might try to follow him again. He couldn't risk him - or anyone - finding where he lived and showing up at his doorstep. 

"I should think it bloody well is my business, she's my best friend and I care about her!" Raoul retorted. 

Erik mulled this over. He had never had a close friend, not really - the nearest thing he had to such was Christine - and he didn't know enough about that sort of thing to refute him on the matter. He narrowed his eyes at the grate above him, at Raoul's fingers wrapped firmly around the bars. 

"It doesn't matter what I feel towards her, there's no kind of life I could give her as a husband," he told him firmly. "Christine deserves a fine life, with sunlight and people and the whole world even, if she wished it. I cannot give her that."

He paused before adding, "But you can."

Raoul squirmed nervously. In order to speak clearly into the grate, he had to lay sprawled out on the floor in a most undignified manner. It was terribly difficult to have such a serious conversation as this in such a way, he thought. 

"I didn't ask that, though. I asked what you felt towards her."

Erik shook his head in the darkness. 

"She needs someone like you, Vicomte, not a ghost like me. She shouldn't be condemned to haunt these walls as I do."

A silence settled over both of them for a moment. 

"So you do love her, then," Raoul said softly. 

Erik flinched and wrapped his arms around himself. He hadn't meant for this conversation to get this far, to reveal this much. 

"You've clearly thought about this," Raoul continued. "And you care enough about her happiness to send her away. You love her, don't you?"

The word was whispered so quietly, so gently, that Raoul almost missed it. 

"Yes."

And then, a little louder, but infinitely sadder, "Yes, I love her, and that is why I know she can _never_ be with me."

Raoul chose to ignore how sadly those words were delivered, a wide smile breaking out on his face. 

"But don't dont you see! You both love each other! Surely you can work this out together!"

Erik scrubbed his sleeve across his face, willing himself not to cry in front of this boy who was intent on teasing him with what could never be. 

"You don't understand the situation, Vicomte. I've already told you, she deserves the kind of life that I can't give her. It would be best for her to find someone else to court and forget about her silly feelings for me. She- she might not have feelings for someone else _at first_ , but I'm sure she could grow to love someone else if only given the chance. She'll have to."

Raoul's heart sank to hear him talk like that. 

"I may not understand the entire situation," he conceded, squinting into the dark to try to catch a glimpse of the Phantom. "But I do understand Christine's heart. And it belongs entirely to you. This isn't some simple crush. She won't even consider anyone else. It's you, or it's no one. You might not be able to give her everything she deserves, but- but if you love her, you can give her that, at least. You can give her your love. And I know Christine well enough to say with certainty that she'd rather live in a cellar with love than live as queen with someone she didn't love."

Raoul paused, waiting for a response from Erik that didn't come. 

"She's going to end up alone, Erik. Is that really what you want for her?"

Erik gripped the fragments of his mask so tightly that the broken edges porcelain bit into his fingers and nearly drew blood. How could she love him like that, truly love him? Surely the boy was mistaken somehow. She didn't actually love him - she only loved the idea of him, that had to be it. She _couldn't_ love him, why, she didn't even know what he really looked like-! 

And then it dawned on him, what he needed to do. 

"I just want her to be happy," he said vacantly. His mind was elsewhere. "I- I will think about what you've told me, Vicomte. You've given me a lot to think about... Can you find your way out again?"

Just as Erik had hoped, that question signaled his wish for Raoul to leave and Raoul complied. 

"Yes, I can. I'll be on my way, I suppose," he reluctantly pulled himself up off the floor, his joints stiff from laying across the cold stone. 

"Good, good. Take care of yourself, Monsieur Le Vicomte," he struggled to think of something polite to say - the boy might have been annoying and smug and a little simple, but without him Erik might not have had that one moment of blissful peace knowing that Christine loved him. "Perhaps- perhaps you will see Erik again one day."

Erik had no intention of following through with that, but Raoul didn't need to know that, and he took it happily enough. 

"I would like that, Erik," Raoul brushed the dust off of his clothes, unaware of the cringe Erik gave at hearing his name said so casually by this stranger. "It was a pleasure to meet you, sir. I bid you good day."

Raoul gave a small bow to the air vent, uncertain if Erik could see him even though he could not see Erik, but he figured it was better to err on the side of caution anyway. 

"Yes, yes, goodbye," Erik was growing impatient. Would he never leave? 

Raoul's turned and began to follow the thread he'd left behind him, confident it would lead him out quickly. Erik waited until he couldn't hear the boy's footsteps anymore before finally being able to continue on his way home. 

Raoul stumbled out into the blinding daylight once more. He swiftly made his way back inside, back behind the stage. Rehearsals would be nearly ending by now, and he had to find Christine. 

He waited impatiently for her to finish talking to the director. This was important! Finally - finally! - she was released and he rushed up to her as she left the stage. 

"Lottie- Christine," he said breathlessly, grinning widely. "He loves you."


	9. Chapter 9

Her brow furrowed in confusion. 

"W-what?"

"Your Angel - Erik - he's in love with you!"

She shook her head. 

"No, no he's not," she sighed. "I already told you-"

"But I've just just spoken with him, Christine! He told me so himself!" Raoul insisted. 

Christine's face went pale and she gripped his shoulders. 

"Oh, Raoul - Raoul, what have you done? You followed him and spoke to him? You shouldn't have done that! He's going to be terribly upset!"

Raoul frowned. 

"He seemed fine..."

"He _hates_ when people seek him out, Raoul! One time one of the managers sat in box five and waited for him to show up so he could talk to him, and after that Erik disappeared for _an entire week_! Oh! I might never see him again now..."

Raoul began to feel uneasy. Had he done the wrong thing? He was only trying to help, and it had seemed right at the time! 

"I'm sure it will work out..."

But he wasn't sure, not any more. 

"I'm sorry, Christine," he was suddenly shamefaced. 

"It's alright, Raoul," she bit her lip. "You didn't know."

The next four days felt like an eternity for Christine. Rehearsals seemed to drag by, and she felt she was endlessly glancing up to the rafters, hoping that he was up there silently watching and not hiding away in a tomb somewhere. 

Every soft noise in the hallways made her pause and whisper his name, listening intently for some sort of reply. She wasn't sure if it was merely the creak of the walls or some small animal she didn't want to imagine, or if it really was him and he was merely ignoring her. Either option made her eyes sting with unshed tears. 

She'd make her way to the room where she had her lessons, sitting there on the little couch and staring miserably across at the empty piano. She'd call out for him sometimes, hoping he'd be there somewhere. She called out apologies on behalf of Raoul, hoping out loud that he hadn't take offense to anything he had said to him. Her only response was silence. 

Erik didn't hear any of this, though. He didn't leave his house on the lake for the entire four days. He set about making a replacement mask right away, throwing himself into his work so he wouldn't have to think about what was to come after this. There were powders to mix at just the right temperature, and clay to be shaped just so, and ages of waiting until it dried hard enough, then sealant to spread across it, and layers of paint here and there, and then some more sealant. 

He didn't dare go out of his home without his mask, especially not after being accosted by that boy. That incident still shook him, the suddenness and unexpectedness of it all. He was unnerved that it might happen again, and while he supposed there was nothing he could do about that, at the very least he would prefer to be wearing his mask if or when it happened. 

Finally the mask was finished. He held it up and inspected it under the bright electric light in his home. He was pleased with how it turned out, almost better than his previous one. His pleasure in how it turned out was dampened by the fact that it wouldn't really matter after his next lesson with Christine. After tomorrow afternoon, he wouldn't be face to face with anyone very much at all. But still, it was nice to look nice just for oneself, and even though his home contained no mirrors, he liked to be able to reach up and touch the smoothness of his face and pretend that it wasn't artificial. 

One more day, he thought to himself as he brushed his thumb over the cheekbone of the mask. 

Christine sat on the couch in their music room, nervously watching the clock. She was afraid that he would be terribly angry when he arrived, that he would feel betrayed that she had told Raoul enough about him that he was able to find him. Or perhaps he just wouldn't show up at all, he might never show up again. _Or_ he might appear just to scold her and then disappear forever. Her stomach felt like it was in knots. 

But sure enough, right as the clock struck three, Erik stepped out from behind the mirror. 

He had paused before sliding the mirror back, taking a moment to watch her before she knew he was there. She looked terribly worried. That worry seemed to melt away when he stepped into the room, but a bit of apprehension remained in her eyes despite the smile that formed as she saw him. 

"Hello, Christine," he greeted her. 

She rose to her feet, but in her painstaking appraisal of whether or not he was angry at her she neglected to return his greeting. 

His own smiled faltered. 

"Is something wrong, my dear?"

"No, no... I was just worried that you would be upset with me - because of Raoul, I mean," she dropped her gaze to the ground. 

He walked over to the piano bench, suddenly unable to look at her. He hadn't expected to topic to be brought up so soon - he had just wanted their lesson to be like old times before everything had to change. 

But still- "I could never be upset with you, Christine," he told her gently. "Shall we begin?"

Her tension began to fade as they settled into their familiar roles once more. She sang the best that she could, while he offered praise and corrections in turn. It seemed they ran through nearly every song in her repertoire, and when she happened to glance up at the clock she was surprised to find that he had let the lesson go on for much longer than he usually did. 

He noticed her confused glance at the clock and hesitated. 

"Would you like to go on, or should we stop here?" he asked, trying to keep the question casual and bracing himself for her to ask to be finished. 

"Could we go on? If you don't mind, that is," she looked hopeful. 

"Of course, my dear. I happen to know that we will be playing Hannibal next season, would you like to go over some of the songs from that? It's never too early to prepare, you know."

She nodded eagerly, he handed her the sheet music and lyrics. 

Sweet, trusting Christine. She had no idea why he wanted to prepare her for this role so far in advance, couldn't possibly know it was to be their last lesson together. 

He tried to fit as much advice as he could into the time he had, tried his best to memorize the pitch of her voice and savor these last moments with her. 

Her voice cracked on a high note and he stopped, cursing his own selfishness in keeping her here so long, in pushing her voice so much in one day simply because he wanted to extend their time together. He turned to look at her, concerned. 

She had a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. 

"That's enough for today, Christine."

"Are you sure? I can keep going-" 

She didn't want him to leave. She had missed him so over the past four days. 

"I am certain, you've had enough. We can't risk straining your voice. Please, sit down," he motioned to the couch, and she sat. 

There was a moment of quiet, of hesitation, as the weight of everything they had each said to Raoul - and had left unsaid to each other - hung heavy in the air. 

He dearly regretted what he was about to do. She didn't deserve it, but he knew of no other way to ensure she'd have the future she needed. It was easy to love something when you didn't see the whole of it, wasn't it? Loving the actual fact was much more difficult. 

"The Vicomte came to talk to me the other day, I'm sure you're aware," he kept his tone even. 

She swallowed hard and gave a single nod, willing herself to continue eye contact. 

His resolve faltered and he looked away. When he spoke again there was a tremble to his voice that he couldn't quite hide. 

"You know that I'm very proud of you, don't you, my dear? You've worked so hard over the years, I know you'll go quite far if you put your mind to it. Working with you has been- it's been an unparalleled delight."

He smiled wanly at her when he finally managed to look at her again. 

"Thank you, Erik," she smiled back at him, but she had never seen him like this before and was beginning to worry. 

He studied her for a moment, that look in her eyes only confirming what the Vicomte had told him. 

Erik had given her his promise that he would listen to her. Well, he was listening now. He should have noticed it sooner. 

"I have quite enjoyed our lessons together, as well," she blushed. "And I- I have missed you these past few days."

His throat constricted with emotion. He had promised to listen to her, but that didn't mean he had to agree with her. It was time to get it over with. 

"Christine, do you know why I wear a mask?"

She hesitated, surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. 

"I mean, not _exactly_ , but that is your business, of course - I do not wish to pry. I had assumed- well, I had assumed you were... disfigured."

She was terribly embarrassed to have to say it. 

"You are correct. We- we should not have secrets from each other, do you not agree? If two people love each other, they should not keep secrets."

She nodded, beginning to see where he was going with this. 

He rose to his feet, realizing that he was blocking the only door in or out of the room - if she wanted to bolt out the door (and he was willing to bet she would) she would first have run _towards_ him to get out. That wouldn't do. 

"Trade places with me, Christine," he told her softly. 

She was confused but she complied, and made her way over to the piano bench while he stood near the couch. 

This was better, he thought. Now she could flee much easier. He only hoped she wouldn't faint, because if she did that would complicate matters entirely. She might hit her head if she fell, and afterwards he'd probably have to carry her into her dormitory and place her into bed. She probably wouldn't be pleased if he had to have his arms around her like that, had to go into her private room, not after how he was about to frighten her. 

His heart twisted painfully for his poor, innocent angel who was unknowingly about to gaze upon the face of a monster. But it was the only way to break her of this spell, this naive feeling that she had mistaken for true love. She would see his face, and she would realize that she didn't - couldn't - really love him, and she'd put all this - and him - behind her. She'd go on to have a lovely career, she'd meet some other nice young man, and her life would be everything it should be. 

So he looked at those perfect blue eyes one last time, then looked away and raised his hand to his mask and pulled it from his face in one swift motion. There was no other way around it. 

She sat still as stone on the bench. 

For added measure he reached up and pulled his wig off. 

There was a short intake of breath, but no screams, no terrified scrabbling to get away. She didn't bolt for the door as he had expected. 

For a moment she was so silent, so still, that he was afraid she truly was about to faint. That worry overpowered his shame at his appearance, and he dared to glance up at her. 

She hadn't lost any color from those angelic cheeks, nor did she seem scared out of her wits. She simply sat there and looked at him. 

She hadn't realized he wore a wig. She also noticed his hair - what was left of it, at least - was a much lighter brown than she would have expected, considering the black of the wig. She pressed her lips together. 

He distantly realized she had asked him something, but he hadn't caught what the exact words were. 

"What?" 

"I said, does it hurt? Your- your face."

He stared at her dumbly. That was not the reaction he had anticipated in the least. He gave a small shrug. 

"No... Sometimes. The mask can irritate it."

He sagged against the wall, suddenly unsure. 

She bit her lip, realization hitting her as she took in the weary, defeated look on his face. 

He hadn't shown his face because he expected her to stay. Quite the opposite. He had expected her to run, to abandon him. He didn't believe she truly loved him. 

It now made sense, him placing her closer to the door, the way he couldn't meet her eye when he took his mask off. The daze that he seemed to be in now, as though he didn't think he'd get this far. The stiffness of his shoulders spoke not of a man revealing a secret to his lover, but of a man preparing for rejection and insults. 

She must admit, his face was... _Not pleasant_ , but this was Erik! Erik, who had worked so tirelessly to form her voice. Erik, who had listened to all of her little gripes and worries and comforted her when she was upset and celebrated with her when she was happy. She loved Erik. His face couldn't change that, even if it was rather awful. 

She rose from her seat on the bench and willed her hands to stop shaking as she made her way to where he leaned on the wall. 

She noted the confusion that passed through his eyes as she drew closer, and he straightened up as she stopped close to him. 

She hesitated only a moment out of concern that she might hurt him, but she kept her touch delicate as she placed both hands on either side of his face. He flinched at the contact, but did not pull away. There was no hesitation as she pulled him down to kiss him. 

He reached his own hands up to grasp at her wrists as though to pull her hands away, but he simply left them there instead. 

"Chris _tine_ ," he whimpered softly when she pulled back. 

He had agonized over showing her his face ever since his conversation with Raoul, picturing every single possible outcome - and this had never been one of them. He had never imagined or dared to hope that she might not be repelled by him, that her affection might be unconditional. He was entirely at a loss of what to do.

She leaned up to kiss him again, and where the first kiss had been soft and shy, the second was deeper and lingering and this time he reciprocated. 

The small, logical part of his mind screamed at him to stop, to push her away and demand she leave. It bemoaned the loss of all the splendid futures she could have had with someone else, it railed against what was surely a terrible mistake. But despite what so many at the Opera House thought of him, he was merely a very human man, and his will was only so strong. 

Christine truly did love him, truly wasn't bothered by the reality of his face, and he _wanted_ that so badly that he simply couldn't turn her away now. How could he turn down her down after this? What Raoul had said was burningly clear to him now - this wasn't a mere crush to her, and she would never have anyone else. He couldn't condemn her to a life of spinsterhood out of his misplaced sense of _right_ and _noble_. It was a terrible thing to be alone, after all...

With those two kisses she had reduced him from a man who thought he knew what was best for her to a dog at her feet who would anything she asked of him, consequences be damned. 

She broke the kiss to catch her breath and he rested his forehead on her shoulder as he silently wept, his arms going around her torso and pulling her tightly to himself. He knew that the shoulder of her dress was going to be soaked through with tears, but surely after everything else she would forgive him that. 

She put her arms around his neck, pulling herself even closer. She rubbed one hand up and down his back, hoping to soothe him, and let her other hand wander through his patchy hair, fingers moving in small circles against his scalp. 

"I love you, Erik," she whispered, but it seemed to be entirely the _wrong_ thing to say as he only started to cry harder after that. 

"Oh, Christine," he sighed when he was finally able to speak again. "You truly are an angel."

She squirmed in his embrace, suddenly shy. 

"Was Raoul correct, then?" he pulled back slightly and brushed a stray curl away from her face. "Do you wish- do you wish to marry me?"

What an odd way to propose, Christine thought to herself. She buried her face in his chest. 

"Yes, I do."

He made no reply, only gave her a little squeeze. 

It was only a few moments later that he suddenly released her. 

"It is getting late, Christine. You should return to your dormitory, you've had a very long day. I want you to drink two cups of hot tea tonight before bed - don't think I've forgotten how your voice cracked earlier. The show opens in two days and you need your rest so you can be in top condition."

She raised an eyebrow at this but made no complaint, and let him lead her to the door. Once there he paused, reluctant to let go of her hand. He brushed a kiss across her knuckles before letting her hand slide out of his grip. 

"I will see you tomorrow, my dear."

There was a tenderness in his voice that Christine had never heard before, but that she knew she could easily get used to. 

Erik didn't know how he was going to sleep a wink that night, plots and plans already forming in his mind. An unknown future suddenly sprawled before him, one he never could have anticipated, but one he was looking forward to very much. 

Christine sat on her bed and smiled as she breathed in the steam wafting off of her cup of herbal tea. She closed her eyes. She could still feel the press of his lips against hers. It had all gone so perfectly, except- 

Except she still felt a little funny over how he had asked her if she wanted to marry him. Were they engaged now? Or was he merely attempting to ascertain her feelings on the matter? She wasn't certain about either one, and she thought it would be terribly awkward to have to ask him which was the case. 

But that was surely a worry for another day. Tonight, tonight everything was lovely, and she wanted to remember it forever.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! :3

All day Christine wondered over what her lessons would be like now. Would they be different somehow, now that she and her tutor were different? 

When she arrived for her lesson that afternoon he was already there at the piano. He paused a moment as he watched her walk closer, his eyes shining with such an adoration that it brought a blush to Christine's face. 

"Good afternoon, Erik," she smiled. 

"My dearest Christine."

His voice was like a loving embrace, and she had to suppress a shiver at the sound of it. 

"Shall we begin?"

She nodded at his question, and from there they fell into a lesson not unlike the ones they had always had. He kept it brief, however, not wanting her to overtax herself so close to the start of the show. She dearly wished it were not the case, as she had hoped to spend more than a mere hour near him that day, but she had acquiesced anyway. 

He stood up from the piano bench and walked with her to the door, even if it was a rather short distance. She lingered there before opening the door, glancing wistfully at him with the hopes of a hug or perhaps even a kiss before they had to part. Instead he simply reached his hand up as though to caress the side of her face but stopped just before he made contact, hesitating. She bridged the gap, leaning her face into his hand and he gave a small sigh. 

Her heart was hammering in her chest. This was it - he was leaning in closer, his thumb stroking her cheekbone, he was going to kiss her-! Her eyelids fluttered closed in anticipation. 

"No lesson tomorrow, my love. I want you fully focused on your rehearsal."

Her eyes sprung open. Oh. She nodded and he pulled his hand away. Was that all? She bit her lip, a little embarrassed that she had expected more. But shouldn't she? They _were_ engaged... weren't they? 

He had turned to leave after he let his hand fall away, but then he paused, frowning. 

"Don't bite your lip like that, Christine. It's a terrible habit of yours, your lips are going to get chapped," he gently admonished and placed a hand on her upper arm, giving it a small squeeze. 

"I'm sorry, Erik."

"It's alright, Christine. I'll see you again after your performance."

"You'll be watching the performance, won't you?"

He smiled tenderly. 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, my dear."

For the next day and half she let the production distract her from the odd predicament with Erik - or at least she tried to. 

She fretted over what exactly she'd tell Raoul the next time she saw him. Were they engaged or not? Would they have a wedding in a church - would Erik be comfortable enough to _be able_ to leave the Opera House for a church wedding, or would they marry in the little chapel that was tucked away on the premises? Did Erik already consider them married based on the fact of how they felt about each other, after she had confessed that she only ever wanted him? Surely not that one - if he felt she was his wife already he would have kissed her before leaving after their lesson, she thought. A terrible thought creeped into her mind - that he didn't intend to actually marry her _or_ to even propose at all... What if he was simply content to know she loved him? She swallowed hard at this thought. Surely he wouldn't- he wouldn't expect her to still marry someone else, would he? She had already made her choice! 

She so wished that they had time to simply _sit_ and to _talk_ over it all - but this blasted opera was demanding all of her time! It's not that it was not enjoyable or exciting - it was actually her first starring role in an opera - not just a small solo or a chorus or an understudy, but top billing as the main female lead! It would have been a truly heady rush had she not been otherwise distracted. How could she focus on being a grand diva when her future with Erik was still so uncertain? 

But when the opening performance came, she managed to not let it worry her too terribly much. She would get through the performance, take the night off and relax, and then she would find Erik and they could discuss whatever they needed to discuss then. For right now, it was time to sing. 

When she arrived onstage at her cue, she took the briefest moment to glance up at Box 5. The box was completely dark, seemingly empty as always, but she knew without a doubt that he was there, watching her with pride and love. Her heart gave a little flutter. She let her eyes drop to the box just below Erik's, catching a glance of another familiar face - Raoul. She couldn't help but smile at the thought that Erik probably had no idea that Raoul was right beneath him, and that Raoul was completely unaware that the fearsome Opera Ghost was mere yards away. 

All worries about their situation and any nerves about her performance melted away at the thought of the two men she loved the most both being there to watch her with their unwavering support and devotion. All was right in the world. She lost herself in the performance. 

When she finally took her bow at the very end, she felt in quite a daze. How many times had she dreamed, _fantasized_ about this very moment? She could scarcely believe it was true. She returned to her dressing room like she was floating on a cloud. 

It felt so strange to peel back the layers of her costume and stage makeup and wig one by one as she slowly went from her character onstage back to plain old Christine once again. Dressed once more in her regular clothing, she set to work wiping the last of the thick cosmetics from her face. 

That was when she heard it - a little voice coming from right next to her, seemingly out of the roses in the vase she had on her vanity. 

" _Christine_..."

She knew it was Erik, knew that he was likely somewhere behind her - or possibly above her - and that he was merely throwing his voice to make it _sound_ like the roses were talking. She knew without a doubt that it was not _actually_ the roses talking, but the effect was so realistic that she couldn't help how she glanced right at the roses after they 'spoke'. 

" _The maestro wishes to speak with his diva on the rooftop_."

Christine smiled and shook her head. That silly man. He could speak with her right here if he wanted to! What could he possibly want up on the roof?

"Tell my maestro that I'll be right up," she said to the roses.

She hastily wiped at her eyes one last time, suddenly too distracted to care if all of her mascara was off or not, just so long as it wasn't smeared around her eyes. She grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her, wondering what turn the weather had taken. When she had gone out that morning, it had been bitingly cold and the clouds overhead had held a promise of snow. The heartbeat in her ear was echoed by the thunk of her feet as she ascended the stairs as quickly as she dared, not wanting to trip but also not wanting to spend another moment away from him. 

When she finally reached the top level and burst out of the door to the roof, she was greeted by a think blanket of snow that was ever growing as more of it came down. Slightly out breath, the frigid air stung her nose, but she found it difficult to care with the beautiful picture it all made. 

Erik was nowhere in sight, and she carefully made her way nearer to the edge, wrapping her cloak around her tightly. 

Paris was so beautiful like this, she sighed to herself. The twinkling lights up and down the streets and on all the buildings, and everything covered in a blanket of snow made the entire city look like a fairyland. When faced with a sight like this, Christine felt like maybe there really was still magic in the world. 

She let out a squeak and jumped just a little when she felt strong arms encircle her waist and pull her back against a warm figure. She relaxed almost immediately into the embrace after she realized who it was, placing her hands over his and leaning against him. 

"Erik! You startled me!"

"This is a lovely view, is it not?" he murmured into her hair. "And yet it still pales in comparison with you, my Christine."

The view from the roof made a strong case for the existence of magic in the world, but hearing those words whispered so tenderly from someone she loved so dearly made a believer out of her. How could she not believe in fairytales when she herself was living one? 

She sighed happily. 

"How did I do tonight?" she changed the subject, unsure of how to respond to his honeyed flattery. 

"You were perfection itself."

The blush across her cheeks turned a shade deeper.

"Hmm, I think you are biased," she teased, but she felt like she was glowing from his kind words. 

"Biased? Never," he scoffed. 

A soft silence settled over them as they watched the scene spread out before them. Christine felt like she could stay here forever, even if it was freezing. Still, she was the first to break the silence. 

"Thank you for bringing me up here tonight, Erik. It's just perfect," she paused just a moment before continuing in a lower voice. "I love you."

He simply hummed deep in his throat and, much to her confusion, began removing his leather gloves although he still kept his arms around her. 

He was almost certain that she could feel - if not hear - how fast his heart was beating. He had done nothing but think of this moment ever since she had kissed him after he unmasked himself, pictured this a thousand ways over. But so many of those scenarios were nearly impossible for him - he could not, for instance, take her for a picnic in the park where they watched the sun set - just the thought of going out and being around so many other people made his heart skip beats in a bad way and his hands sweat and his thoughts buzz. But this, this he _could_ do - in the moonlight under the shadow of the Apollo statue as they looked out on all of Paris lit up and snowflakes landed in her hair and eyelashes and on her nose and she was fresh from her triumphant debut on the stage-

Erik fumbled with his gloves more than he would have liked - the air was much colder than he had anticipated - but he managed to get them off and then he pulled the ring that he always wore off as well. He took her left hand and slipped the gold band on her finger, kissing the side of her face and her neck as she gasped and looked at her hand. 

"Oh, Erik-" she breathed. 

"I love you so much, Christine," he swallowed hard. "I'm sorry that this isn't a very fancy ring like you deserve. I- I'll make arrangements for you have one with a diamond as soon as possible, but I thought- I wanted you to have this one as well, because it doesn't really count unless there's a ring, does it?"

"I don't need a different ring, Erik - I love this one! It will always remind me of this night, and of you. I wouldn't have it any other way."

She couldn't stop admiring the ring, the one she'd seen on his hand everyday during their lessons. It truly wasn't very fancy - just a simple, plain ring made of gold - but to her it could have contained all the diamonds and jewels in the world. She loved it because it was _his_ and now it was _hers_ , and she wouldn't trade that for the world. 

Erik was delight that she was pleased with it - for the most part. A small part of his mind still told him that this was only the start of things she'd have to get used to doing without, the very first in a long line of things he would struggle to be able to give her, a harbinger of all the compromises she'd have to make to stay with him. As much as those little voices screamed at him that he was making a terrible mistake, that he was dooming her with his love, that this was all wrong - he was powerless to turn from this path now, not with her here in his arms, not when she sighed so prettily as she rested against him, not with how she beamed at the ring he had given her. Despite her insistences otherwise, he still planned on getting her a fancy diamond that she could show off to her friends like any other bride. If she truly didn't want a diamond as an engagement ring, perhaps it could be a wedding gift instead... And speaking of weddings-

"Do you want a wedding in a big church, Christine?" he asked in a soft voice as he gently leaned his unscarred cheek against the side of her face. 

She hesitated, dropping her left hand which was now trembling from the cold back down his still ungloved hands wrapped around her middle, giving them a light squeeze. 

"Do _you_ want a wedding in a big church?" she carefully returned the question back to him. 

"Hm. I asked you first, my dear."

"I would _like_ a wedding in a big church," she tried to choose her words carefully. "But I do not know if it will be... _practical_ , for us. I will certainly not be upset if we do not, and above everything I want you to be comfortable. I don't think I'd enjoy the ceremony very much if you were scared out of your wits, you know. Something simple is fine with me, too, Erik."

His sweet fiancée, thinking of what would be best for him. What had he ever done to deserve her? 

"If you wish to have a fancy wedding, you shall have one, Christine. I- I will try very hard to be the kind of husband you need me to be, my dear. Only- just remember that it has been a very long time since Erik went out among so many people, it will take time, of course - but he will try! But please be patient with your Erik as he tries. He wants nothing more than to please you, and it will be difficult at times, but he promises that he is trying very hard for you..."

Christine's heart melted at his words. He was so terribly anxious and frightened of crowds - with good reason, of course, but he _did_ tend to think that any more than four people in one given space was a 'crowd'. She knew it would be very difficult indeed to overcome - or even attempt to overcome - a way of thinking for him that had been second nature for so many long years, probably for longer than Christine had been alive. That he would face those debilitating fears for her sake... It warmed every part of Christine, and she swore that she'd do whatever it took to help him in that. 

"I promise to always be patient with you, Erik. And I promise to help you in any way you need me to, too. We don't have to rush into a big wedding right away. We can start with small outings, simple things until you feel comfortable going out around people. It'll be okay. Besides, I want Raoul to be there when we get married, and he's leaving on another expedition in a few days and won't be back for three months."

Erik had tightened his grip on Christine as she had spoken about helping him get used to leaving the Opera House, awash with gratitude as he thought about how he cherished her. But the mention of _that boy_ gave him pause. 

"Raoul?"

"Yes, I think he should be there."

Rationally Erik knew there was no reason in the world to feel jealous or anything of the like, but still-

"Why?"

He still wasn't certain how to feel about him. Raoul seemed to care deeply for Christine, and in a way that didn't seem to compete with how Erik felt about her, and he appreciated that there was someone else out in the world that wanted to look out for her... But he was still slightly uncomfortable with how the boy had hunted him down in his own home with such sheer brazenness - and how convincingly _nice_ he seemed to be in spite of that. Was he really that nice? He supposed that Christine wouldn't be such good friends with him if he wasn't, but Erik wasn't used to such a concept. Christine was nice, of course, but Christine was an _angel_ , of _course_ she was _nice_ \- and Raoul was most definitely _not_ an angel so it made him feel confused about the whole matter. 

"Because, Erik - without Raoul, we very likely wouldn't be here right now."

Erik raised an eyebrow at this. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If Raoul hadn't confronted us on how we felt for each other, we might never have truly known. Were you ever going to tell me how you felt? Because," she looked down, sheepish. "Because I wasn't going to tell _you_."

He paused, considering this. He hadn't been going to tell her - he had planned on never telling her. Although, when he truly considered it-

"And just who, my dear," he purred into her ear. "Was responsible for your going out with the boy in the first place, hmm?"

She smirked. 

"Erik. You aren't serious... Raoul still had to ask me first, before you said anything about him at all. If he hadn't asked-"

"He asked, and you turned him down, Christine. You would have continued to turn him down, too, if not for me - don't deny it, now," he playfully chided her. 

"Erik!" she laughed. "Raoul is coming to the wedding, and that is final!" 

He made a show of sighing deeply, but he was smiling as well. 

"Very well, my dear. You know that I can deny you nothing."

They stood there a while longer, gazing out at the city, gazing up at the occasional star that peeked through the snow filled clouds. The future was still uncertain, and it would surely have more than it's share of difficulties, but they would face those together. 

He knew there were innumerable questions about what lay ahead of them. Would Christine want to live in his little house by the lake underground, or would she prefer to live somewhere sunny? If they moved, how would that affect her career? Would Erik ever actually manage to travel around like a normal person, go to the stores or even just walk down the street with his wife without panicking? Would she want children - would she want _his_ children? Would she ever regret her choice in binding herself to him? Erik tried to push all of these thoughts from his mind. They could all be dealt with later. They didn't matter in that moment. 

All that mattered right then was how warm she felt against his chest, how big the smile on her face was as her fingers entwined with his, and how at peace he felt even with so many unanswered questions looming in the distance. He nuzzled his face into her hair and breathed deeply, the scent of violets and roses still lingering from whatever it was she combed her hair out with. He would have to ask her it was - later. 

She squirmed in his arms until he loosened his grip on her, and she turned around to face him, standing on her tiptoes, the gold ring glinting in the moonlight as she cupped the side of his face and pulled him down into a kiss.


End file.
